


Blood Connections Part 1

by Luthorchickv2



Series: Blood Connections [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-13
Updated: 2011-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthorchickv2/pseuds/Luthorchickv2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade brings home a high stranger and then meets the stranger's brother. Part of my Blood Connections verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Connections Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note 1: Finals and sorting out my summer internship made writing difficult. Now that everything is sorted I'll be updating more quickly.
> 
> Note 2: I am not familiar with London geography but I looked it up and East London seemed to suit my purposes. If I am wrong please let me know.
> 
> Note 3: Sherlock continues to intimidate me I did my best with his characterization. I had a hard time with his deductions so please use a suspension of disbelief. Thanks!

2004  
1.  
Gregory Lestrade lived in a third floor walk up, one bedroom flat in East London. When he first moved to London, a flat in this neighborhood had been all he could afford on a constable’s salary. He had been worried that a bobby living in the neighborhood would be too much of a target but he had been left pretty much alone. It helped perhaps that he turned a blind eye towards some of the activities that were small potatoes in terms of crime. He didn’t see the point in arresting every girl working on a corner or lurking in an alley, as long as they didn’t flaunt it in front of him.

Soon the denizens of the neighborhood had become used to Greg’s uniformed figure coming and going at all hours. Within a couple of years he had come to know the people, and had a reputation as someone who would help out if he could. The older Italian couple that lived on the flat to his left had gradually warmed to him enough that Nonna would drop off a container of soup every so often and expected him to show up from Sunday dinner whenever he wasn’t working. His neighbors had started coming to him with small issues, Miss Molly from downstairs came to him about her missing cat, Derek from across the street with a shallow knife wound in his hand and so forth. And then he started dealing with larger issues occasionally. Once during his fourth year living there, Greg had been involved in tracking down and arresting a john who had been beating his women despite it not being on his beat.

When he had been promoted to sergeant and could finally afford to move away, he found that he didn’t want to. He had become a part of the community. When he passed his detective exam and had been promoted to inspector, Nonna and Tomas had thrown him a party. He fit here. It wasn’t what he expected when he imagined living in London but it worked for him. His last serious boyfriend had been appalled when Greg had taken him home fore the first time and had never quite grown comfortable when staying here.

He was getting out of his car late on a Thursday night when one of the neighborhood boys, Tony, came running to his. Greg had worked late trying to tie together a string of masked robberies and had finally thrown in the towel at 11:15. He had a stack of files cradled under one arm and was exhausted.

“Mr. Greg, Mr. Greg. Come quick!” Tony started tugging on Greg’s hand before he had even cleared the car door.

“Tony, easy. Let go of my hand and let me lock up first.” He turned to lock the car door.

Tony snorted. “Like anyone would mess with your car and risk Monty’s wrath.”

Monty was the owner of a pub down the row and was very well known in certain circles. His sister had been assaulted a year ago and Greg had helped catch and put away the culprit. Monty had been very grateful and insisted on not letting Greg pay whenever he ate at the pub. Greg adamantly did not want to know anything about any kind of protection Monty may or may not be giving him.

Greg shook his head and let Tony pull him towards an alley that ran parallel to his building. The stench of filth hit his nose and he mentally crossed off being able to wear these pants once more before washing them.

“Tony, what’s going on? It’s late, I have work in the morning.” He was absurdly grateful that his promotion to inspector meant better, more regular hours.

“We found him a few minutes ago.” Tony let go of Greg’s hand and rushed over to a group of boys standing around what looked like a pile of cloth.

Greg followed concerned. “Him?” He dropped the files next to the pile and knelt on the damp ground.

Upon closer examination, the pile of cloths turned out to be a man curled in fetal position on the ground. Greg reached out a hand and rolled the body over to try to find a pulse.

It was barely more than a kid. He had pale white skin stretched over gaunt cheeks and high cheekbones. Inky black hair curled over his forehead, which had a shallow bloody gash on it and was covered in dried sweat. The boy thin and looked to be mostly limb. He was wearing black boots, black trousers and a dark purple button down shirt and the high quality of the black coat he wore indicated he was not from the area. A blue cashmere scarf completed the ensemble.

Greg had nudged aside the scarf and found a strong pulse on the thin pale neck when the boy groaned and moved to roll over again. He blinked grey blue eyes, which were mostly pupil and couldn’t focus on the finger Greg held in front of his face.

“He’s alive, out of his mind high, but alive.” Greg determined he was in no immediate serious danger before reaching out the shake the black clad shoulder.

“Hello? Can you hear me? What’s your name?” Greg leaned down to speak into the boy’s ear.

The boy groaned again and shook his head. “’Omes”

Greg straightened up and started rifling through the coat’s numerous pockets for a wallet, or mobile phone, anything that could help i.d. the boy. He found a nub of pencil, a few scrapes of paper with indecipherable handwriting, a bottle opener, half a pack of expensive Turkish cigarettes, a book of matches, a pair of glasses without lenses and a few other miscellaneous items but no wallet or mobile or anything that would provide a clue as to his identity.

“I am going to close my eyes for a second and if anyone took his wallet or mobile drop it here” He pointed a spot in front of him “and I’ll forget that I didn’t find it in his pocket.”

“We didn’t take nothing off ‘im, Mr. Greg ‘onest.” One of the younger boys, David, said earnestly.

“That’s cause there weren’t nothing to take off ‘im.” Greg chose to ignore who said that and sat back on his heels.

“Well, I can’t leave him here and he doesn’t quite merit a trip to the hospital.” He glanced at the group of boys, aware of the monumentally stupid thing he was about to do.

“A fiver to anyone who helps me get him to my flat.” Because having a stoned stranger sleep over at his flat was exactly what he needed right now, but he couldn’t leave the boy here.

There were mutters and a few of the boys, including Tony and David stepped forward. Greg stood and picked up his files.

“David, take these and don’t open them.” He handed the files to David and leaned down to grab an arm.

“Tony, grab his other arm and help me get him up. Harry, run a head and open the front door for me.” He tossed his keys to Harry. “Can you stand?” He turned and asked the black haired boy who was blinking owlishly but who still couldn’t focus on anything.

Greg took that as a no and indicated to Tony to pull him up. Between the two of them they managed to get the boy balanced on his feet. He stayed docile as Greg and Tony wrestled him through the door and up the stairs. Greg considered himself to be in good physical condition for someone just past forty but was winded by the time he and Tony got to the door of the flat.

“Jesus, he’s heavier then he looks.” Tony swore and propped a shoulder again the door-frame.

“Harry, get the door will you?” Door open, he and Tony stumbled into the flat all but dragging the boy behind them.

Greg’s sofa was relatively empty of books and papers and it was here that he and Tony dumped the boy.

 

“David, stop reading the files and drop them on the kitchen table.” Greg reached into his pocket and pulled put some bills. Too tired to even see them, he handed them to Tony and ushered the boys out the door.

“Thank you. Stay out of trouble.” Door closed he leaned against it and eyed the boy who had curled up on his sofa.

Mustering his flagging energy, he went into his kitchen to grab the first aid kit he kept there. Returning to the body on the sofa, he took out a plaster and alcohol pad. The application of pad to his forehead caused the boy to flinch back and shout. Greg leaned his weight on the boy and kept cleaning the shallow wound until there was no more blood. He slapped the plaster over it and stripped the boy of his coat, scarf and boots.

He had just enough energy to toss the duvet from his bed over the boy before slumping down in the armchair across from the sofa. The files beckoned to him from the kitchen table. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed but he wouldn’t risk it, not with a stranger coming down off of a high on his sofa.

He sighed, stood and forced himself to walk into his kitchen and start his coffee pot. It was going to be a very long night.


End file.
